


Blurred

by Medie



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Awesome Ladies Ficathon, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 07:38:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Those are the days she admits that, maybe, she's a little too attached.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blurred

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [](http://izzyfics.livejournal.com/profile)[**izzyfics**](http://izzyfics.livejournal.com/)'s prompt: _Janice Rand - I'm so tired want to be on my own/Leave me alone._ for the [Awesome Ladies Ficathon](http://ineffort.livejournal.com/199061.html)

The rumor mill just might be the death of her. It's not that she didn't know what she was getting herself into. She did. Only thing faster than the ship's engines was the grapevine. People talked. People talked a lot and, usually, people talked about the command staff.

She's not. Not officially. She's the captain's yeoman on the flagship. It's a plum assignment and everyone knows it. Six months as the captain's yeoman on the Enterprise and she'll make the kind of connections that took most officers years to achieve.

That kind of advantage is worth the hassle on most days. Most days, she can remind herself that she has her pick of assignments and she knows she earned them. Most days, she can remember the others know it too.

But not always.

Janice rubs her neck, staring at the list of reports on her padd. She makes a quick pass, familiarizing herself with the list. That done, she works her way through it again, flagging some for the captain's attention, marking a half dozen more she'd take care of herself, and kicking the rest back to their respective departments for alterations.

That takes three cups of coffee and half a chicken sandwich. Her usual evening meal. Her feet are sore, her eyes are gritty and she's so tired her teeth ache, but her day's long from done. There's still the matter of three staff meetings and a diplomatic envoy's accommodations to sort out, not to mention the mess that is next month's crew rotation. Half a dozen ensigns fresh from the academy's accelerated course with twice that many spots to fill with half and Captain Kirk's notes are just this side of gibberish.

"You know, you should probably be asleep right now."

She looks up, trying for a smile, and manages a faint grin. "So should you, sir."

"Yeah, but I have a reputation to maintain," Captain Kirk says. He lets her office door slide shut behind him and Janice, catching sight of a couple familiar faces in the hall, tries not to cringe. One of them laughs and she doesn't have to guess why. This is their routine and the entire crew knows it. "And a yeoman to keep happy." He helps himself to a chair, taking the padd and the remnants of her chicken sandwich. Personal boundaries vanished quick with their jobs, but Janice still smacks his hand when it goes for her coffee. A woman has her standards after all, and she draws the line at her coffee. It's the real deal, not that replicated crap ship's stores swears by.

"The yeoman is quite happy, sir," she says, sitting back with her prize. "See?"

He shoves the sandwich into his mouth. "Nope. You look tired."

She frowns. "I forgot mascara this morning. Something about a red alert?" She'd spent half the day arranging aid for a shipload of Romulan dissidents. They'd fled the empire in search of the Vulcan colony and run smack into a Klingon raiding party instead.

"Right, that." He leans in, lifting her hair to frown at the bruise on her cheek. The price of a missed step during a torpedo barrage. "You get McCoy to look at that?"

"It's nothing." Janice pushes his hand away, dislodging the rest of the pins, her hair falling to her shoulders. If his hand happens to brush through the curls on its retreat, she absolutely doesn't let herself shiver with the feel of it. "Really." She could love him if she let herself. Ji--_Captain Kirk_ makes it easy. He's all things to all people, but with her, maybe, he's himself. She realized that the first time he wore his glasses in front of her and realizes it still in a dozen little moments throughout each day.

She thinks, maybe, he could love her too.

And that makes the talk so much harder to bear. She loves the crew she serves with, but she hates them just the same. All the more so for maybe being a little right.

It's not without precedent. The intimacy of the job has tripped more than a few captains and yeomans into its trap. Anyone with any time in the Fleet's heard the stories and told a few of their own. Janice is no different. Was. It's different now with the ghost of his touch lingering on her cheek.

"Let the doctor judge that," the captain says, but he sits back and doesn't push. It's too easy. He could make it an order, should make it an order, but he won't. It's not his style. Janice puts even money on Nurse Chapel or Doctor McCoy 'running into her' later. All depends on which one of them he finds first.

"It doesn't hurt," she says. "It's just a little tender that's all."

His eyes are focused on the padd, but he offers a soft hmph in answer.

"When was the last time _you_ ate?" she asks, changing the subject. "Something other than half a chicken sandwich?"

He looks up, blank, and Janice groans. "_Sir_."

"Klingons, Jan," he reminds. "They don't let you take lunch breaks."

"Maybe not, but Doctor McCoy scares me more than they do." Janice punches a quick order into the food-slot, making sure to key it to the captain's code so the good doctor will spot it on his next check. "And I get yelled at. A lot."

She plunks the salad down on the desk in front of him. "Eat that."

He gives it a look normally reserved for Klingons. "Why?"

"Because it's good for you." She leans over. "And you want to keep your yeoman happy, don't you?" Mostly, that's a joke, but they both know it doesn't have to be. She's good at her job. She's damn good at her job and, in Starfleet, good yeomans are worth their weight in gold. She's had more transfer offers than some department heads. She knows she's better than good by the quality of those offers.

Some days she even thinks about considering them, knowing she should be doing more than that. Those are the days she admits that, maybe, she's a little too attached.

Those are the days she thinks about leaving.

The captain makes a face, jabbing at the salad, and Janice closes her eyes.

"Get some sleep, Janice."

She opens her eyes, fighting the weight on them, and he's watching her. It's not the order that gets to her, it's the look on his face.

"Aye sir," she says. "Finish your dinner."

He grins. "Aye sir."

It's a minute before she can convince her legs to start walking.

She should leave the ship. She knows that. It's the right move for them both. The smart move. She should take an assignment on Earth - Admiral Pike was one of the first to make an offer - and never look back.

She won't.

She should hate herself for that.

She doesn't.

Let them talk.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Gaussian Curve](https://archiveofourown.org/works/125207) by Anonymous 




End file.
